


The Night of Vengeance

by HiImJibleh



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Flashpoint (Comics), Justice League: The Flashpoint Paradox
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Death, F/M, Flashpoint (DCU), Gen, Guns, Pain, Revenge, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25144807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiImJibleh/pseuds/HiImJibleh
Summary: Thomas Wayne, former doctor, current casino owner, and businessman goes about his days mocked and scowled at by Gotham's elite, but why the hell would he care? It's not like he had better things to do. After the death of his son, Bruce, Thomas spends his nights finding criminals and beating them to a bloody pulp while bringing light to the dirty dealings of Gotham's "finest" and elite alike. Just how will this man, this very angry man, fare? What will break first? his body or his mind?
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth/Martha Wayne/Thomas Wayne, Harleen Quinzel/Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne/Thomas Wayne
Kudos: 5





	The Night of Vengeance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again everyone, I'm back, not that anyone actually stuck around for my first piece - more like POS. I lost it basically, I lost my passion for writing, mainly due to things like exams and other things, but I'm back. I've been inspired by my love for the DC universe and wanted to try something fun: to explore Thomas Wayne's Batman from the Flashpoint event. So here are some things to note:  
> Firstly, I do not know everything about the DC universe, so I will get a few things wrong - don't hate me for this, instead maybe point them out? give constructive feedback, right?  
> Secondly, this is my interpretation of a property I do not own, therefore all rights go to DC and the respective writers and illustrators of the original material.  
> Thirdly, I just want to have fun, is that okay? If you want to bitch and whine, good for you, just do it elsewhere, yeah?  
> Cool. Let's write and see where this goes.

Bruce was gone. There was no denying that. In Gotham death is as regular as turning on the television to watch the news, it's a constant reminder that no one is safe, no matter who you are, no matter your wealth, your power or who your "friends" are, none of that mattered, you would find death nearby. I always thought that I was invincible in this city, that my family was untouchable - how wrong I was. It was at that night that it finally hit me. All I had done for this city with every life saved, all I had yet to do with every criminal either beaten or killed or every corrupt official exposed and made an example of, it was not enough. It would never be enough.

The rain was as ever-present as usual, in a fashion that was habitual for Gotham, but tonight it felt colder than normal as if the apathy of Gotham had gone elsewhere and the rain that fell was ghostly. Above our dark city were clouds, thick enough to completely block out the white moon, who only had but a few opportunities to shine, but even these were as bleak and pitiful as any attempts of good that few try to bring into Gotham. The only light that was available was from the street lamps that illuminate any city as well as the distant neon, whose light slyly attempted to radiate sin onto everything. The only pleasantness came from the theatre behind us, with its warm and yellow lighting. Tonight's showing was of 'The Mark of Zorro', a show Bruce loved to watch on T.V., and tonight was the first time he had ever stepped foot in a theatre - ironic isn't it? it's as if someone had said "Macbeth" nearby. But for now none of that matters. Everything seemed to fade into blackness, even the ever-homely yellowness of the theatre, all life had truly gone from the world as we entered that accursed alley.

Why the Hell did we cut through here in the first place? oh yeah, I said that it was a good short cut. The pungent stench got stronger and stronger the further we walked in. Stale alcohol, trash and even a few fresh embers. Great, now I think I hear moaning,

"Dad, why is there a woman moaning?"

"Well son, I think that woman is finding pleasure. Either from a man or from a-"

"Thomas!" Martha, ever strict as she is loving, interjected, "we'll tell you in a few years, dear,"

"But he's going to find out sooner or later. Wouldn't you want us to be the ones to let him in on the "adult world" early?" I chuckle and give Bruce's hair a ruffle as we walk further and further into the dark, cramped place. Though, despite all the darkness and signs of desperation, Bruce was actually happy,

"I'll be fine, Mom, it's okay." Bruce replied with a relaxed chuckle, our surroundings didn't seem to concern him. But what kid would be afraid after seeing the Mark of Zorro? I bet Bruce feels like a hero right now, an adventure going on through that head of his - just what do kids think about? I've been a surgeon 10 years and I've helped adults and their kids alike, comforting them as well as healing them, telling them that it would be okay. But I still don't exactly know what goes on in a kid's head - Martha always does and Bruce's words put a smile on her face as we walked. God, I just love to see her smile. We walked on through the stench and the rain, no other sounds heard,

"Thas a pretty set-a pearls you got there..." A gruff voice spoke from the darkness, his features unseen, "why dontcha hand 'em over?"

Martha and I instinctively moved Bruce behind us, both of them were scared,

"Here," I offer while trying to take my wallet out of my back pocket, a grave mistake, "take my wal-"

"No!" He assumed I was going to pull out a gun and thus reached forward for Martha's pearls. She screamed. He grabbed her pearls hard, the ragged flesh of his outer hand grazing Martha's delicate neck, and yanked the pearls, causing them to split and scatter. An opening was made and I rushed forward at him and grabbed him by the collar. Wrong again, Thomas.

The smooth pitter-patter of the rain was harshly interrupted by two distinctive sounds. The bastard had fired his shot and Martha shrieked. The bullet sped through the air and cut through any raindrops that got in the way, it tore a clean hole through the side of my coat and found its way in Bruce's heart... I took no notice of where the bullet went, I was mad. Extremely mad. How dare he? How dare he try to take from us and then attack us? I don't care who you are, if you attack me or my family expect to pay.

And pay this bastard did. My fist found its way into his cheekbone and I had pinned him to the ground. Once, twice, thrice... I had lost count of how many times I had punched him, but I remember the blood. I was aiming at all of the most sensitive areas of his face, the crimson liquid was gently flowing out of his face and showed he wasn't out cold, and he wasn't dead either. The rain had stopped and slowly, deathly slowly, the clouds gave way to let a few rays of moonlight through.

I turned around, Martha had stopped crying. She was... laughing...

HA HA HA HA....!

Martha knelt over Bruce. Her hands and mouth were bloody, was that...-

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...!

"Martha, what's wrong...?" Hair was in her face. I went over and carefully moved it away... oh my God... her eyes...

"Martha, you need to calm down!" I took hold of her shoulders, "Do you hear me?" She kept laughing, "I need you to call someone!" It was no use,

HA HA HA HA HA...!

I sighed and stood up before taking my coat, which had the bastard's blood on it, and wrapped it around Martha's shoulders who promptly stood up and ran off, her laughter still echoing against the tight alley walls. The moon's rays continued to illuminate the alley and then I saw what he had done... what I had done....

Bruce was dead. But surely... surely the bullet missed his heart!

I quickly checked for a pulse.

Nothing...

No dammit...

His breathing.

Nothing.

I began CPR...

1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

I checked his pulse, nothing.

Bruce, stay with me...!

1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

I keep going, "come on, Bruce...! Live!"

Upon taking another breath to give to Bruce I looked up and saw the scumbag running away. But I didn't have time - his time would come later - I needed to save Bruce...

1, 2, 3, 4, 5....

"T-Thomas...? I-I got help..." So that's what Martha went to do! I turned around to see Martha, she had calmed right down thankfully, but that look in her eyes was still off and there was still blood on her face. Next to her stood a policeman, one I think I had recognized as one of Jim Gordon's men, but I couldn't be sure right now.

"Dr. Wayne, are you alright?" I did recognize him, it was one of Jim's men; Maxwell Herrera, a kind man, one of a kind in the GCPD, "are you hurt at all?"

"I'm fine..." He had turned on his flashlight and everything in the alley was illuminated in a harsh stifling yellow. I turned around and Martha gasped and turned away,

"Martha? What's wrong...?"

Bruce's blood was on my lips...

"Doctor Wayne I'd like to take you and your wife back to the station, we have some questions," Maxwell walked over to me and handed me a handkerchief,

"You know officer, I've got questions too..." I said as I wiped my face and sighed. Martha ran into my arms and hugged me tightly, I rubbed her back soothingly as she began to cry again,

"Follow me, please, sir." I led Martha behind Herrera as more of Gotham's "finest" arrived at the scene to survey it in its bloody entirety.

Gotham needs to change. We all know that the big wigs at the top aren't going to budge a finger, why the hell should they care? their kids aren't going to be gunned down. You might look at me and think "Why would Thomas Wayne, the esteemed doctor Thomas Wayne, lift a finger and likely soil his family's name trying to change the city of Gotham?" I'll tell you why, kid: no one else is going to do it, and more importantly that bastard took my son from me, and in Gotham, if someone takes from you, you better be ready to take something back.


End file.
